Darker Than Black
by GaleSynch
Summary: AU: Drowning should take a few minutes. It took me seventeen years. Self-Insert, SI, OC.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: **I do not own anything you recognize.

**Warnings:** This is the rewritten version as I'm not satisfied with the last verse, so some things may be similar and some are not. Death, I guess, but only mentions.

**Darker Than Black**

**Prologue**

_Drowning_

Drowning should take a few minutes, no less, and yet, it took me seventeen years. This is a sign of how damn stubborn I am—in this life and the last, which wasn't necessarily a good sign.

When I felt water seeping into my clothes, dragging me down even as I struggle, I knew then, that I was going to drown. What gave it away that I died some time after I was pulled under?

Maybe the wake-up call was the fact that I woke up in the body of a toddler. Stupid kid was probably no older than two or three, which probably explained why the kid was dumb enough to waddle into the pool. I can see why our souls merged then, because I was as dumb as the baby was to swim after... after—damn, I don't even remember anymore, just that I'd gotten a leg cramp.

It sucked real bad to forget what you'd died for in the beginning. The toddler was probably fascinated by something: maybe of how the water sparkled prettily under the sun? I knew I'd tried to wander into a public pool once, when I was a child the first time around, and had narrowly escaped drowning. I was saved by the superb-swimmers in the pool then.

Even though, I had many near-saves with water, I was still fascinated by it. I was a pretty good swimmer, but swimming in the middle of freezing November was stupid. I think I did it because of a dare... or a bet... well, something along the lines.

Anyway, drowning wasn't cool: it's suffocating and you might die. Which I _did_.

And... and it was_ darker than black._

...

...

...

There were no words available in the human language for me to describe how it felt like when I first opened my eyes, greeted instantly by the blue sky. The sound of my erratic heartbeats, the scent of fresh air and the warmth of the sunlight: this is how it feels to be alive.

Then I choked, spluttering; water gurgled out of my mouth; dimly, I felt someone thumping me on the back, trying to help but only making things worse. My eyes stung when the water had gotten in and I reached up to rub my eyes. The sun blinded me and I whined lowly, just before it was blocked out.

I was shocked to find that, even without glasses or contacts, I could see every detail of the unfamiliar landscape. My eyesight was as bad as a bat's without my glasses so I was surprised; so shocked that I didn't notice I was being carried away before I was tucked under someone's chin.

I squirmed.

I probably should've struggled when I had found myself in a stranger's arms, but all I did was squirm. For an inexplicable reason then, the arms felt safe and familiar._ This was the first sign I was losing it._

"Clary," called the man.

He was youthful, probably in his twenties or something, with wind-swept black hair and grey eyes. He was familiar yet unfamiliar at the same time. This body knew him, but the mind was a different matter entirely: I had no idea who this guy was. I looked away, trying to see if there was anyone else in vicinity.

Even though I must've stopped breathing for a few seconds, I was sure that wasn't my name. My name was a four-lettered word, not five. I knew my Maths.

"Clary," he repeated more insistently.

Maybe he was speaking a different language?

Whatever. I had bigger problems to deal with, like, _why the heck am I so small? _and _where the fuck am I?_

I had to swallow the scream—drowning out the man's increasingly worried voice—when I raised my hands to my face, seeing them small and chubby, instead of long and thin. I glanced down, squawking in surprise when I realized how small I was.

"Clary," the man said, tilting my chin to face him. "Is something wrong?"

"I don't—" I faltered in shock. I never noticed my voice much, but I was pretty sure my voice wasn't as husky as the voice that had spoken the words I'd wanted to speak. I squirmed uncomfortably, shifting in his hold. "

"Don't what?" he pried. "Did you hit your head too hard? I told you—you shouldn't have wandered off without telling me—"

Okay, this was weird: why would a stranger care?

I stared quizzically at him. "Uh... do you know me?"

The man snorted; he didn't seem weirded out or worried, just amused. "Of course I do," he said, his grin dying, replaced by a strange expression: like he was both angry and sympathetic. "I think I'd know my niece anywhere."

...

...

...

_What? Are you serious?_

...

...

...

* * *

**AN:** Yes, I chose to rewrite this because I had spotted a lot of unsatisfactory things in the last version. It's premise is still the same, but the events taking place are different.

So, _italic_ words are from a narrative pov. Anyway, I'm **looking for a beta**, is anyone willing?

What do you think?


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: **I do not own anything you recognize.

**Darker Than Black**

**Chapter 1**

The man smiled, obviously relieved that I was responding. I didn't even realize I'd spoken out loud. "So, you _do_ remember me. Regained your memory, have you?"

I had absolutely no idea what he was talking about. He sounded as if it was normal occurrence for him to carry around his niece who'd wake up after having been drowned and losing her memory temporarily only to remember him again. If this wasn't a sign that he was crazy, I didn't know what.

I shifted in his firm grip.

"Now," he was saying. "Let's not tell your aunt Lily and bitchy grandma about this, 'kay? They'll have my head if they knew I'd let you drown. Which you did not, so I'll probably get off the hook with..." I tuned him out, scanning my surroundings.

This seemed to be a public pool. The automatic doors opened and a cool blast of hair hit me. I shuddered, teeth chattering. I wasn't properly dry and man hadn't even bothered to dry me though a part of me wondered why I'd expect him to do that.

Something else disturbed me: he was able to carry me.

I was tall and not very small, and he handled me like he would a toddler. This was very wrong. I knew I'd never fit in anyone's arms, I was in my mid-twenties; you can't go around carrying adults like babies, right? They're too heavy.

I tried to memorize the way, just in case I needed to run, but every time I saw something new, I forgot something else. I was puzzled by how terrible my memory was.

Speaking of which, did we just turned left? I thought we came from _that_ hallway.

I didn't have much time to ponder about the hallways because the man had came to an abrupt halt before a door; I stared at the number 403 on the door before the man managed to fish out his key. We were in a hotel. The room was small and cramp but seeing as the only occupants were the man and me (supposedly), I didn't think there would be a lot of problems.

What did it matter to me?

The man set me on the chair by the table with a large mirror hanging above it, attached to the wall. I pushed myself up with difficulty.

I'd shrunk.

Was this the same sort of drug used in the manga series_ Detective Conan_ to shrink and de-age someone? But that was fiction, it couldn't possibly be happening to me.

Another part of me, a small voice, argued: _Who says things like that can't happen? Magic's real._

This is probably what people would call insanity. I'm finally losing it.

_I thought you've lost it ages ago._

Again with that stupid voice. I gritted my teeth, pulling myself up with more force than necessary, nearly tumbling face-first into the mirror.

The reflected person was a toddler, probably about one or two, with messy tuft of dark hair and silver eyes.

I screamed.

...

...

...

After freaking out when I saw the reflected me—the new me—I was placed on the bed, having nearly toppled off the chair in my shock and screaming fit.

It had brought my 'uncle' running into the room. He'd postponed his need to shower to tend to me, he kept looking at me and asking at every interval whether I was fine or not. It was ten minutes before my brain started working again, engaging my eyes to take in the surroundings.

The hotel was unfamiliar but this body didn't seem to mind, as if it was used to staying in hotels.

I frowned at the man, the only link as to why I could be here. He claimed to be my uncle. It could be the truth: this man was the uncle of this toddler's body and he cared deeply about her, not matter how careless he was.

His name was...

Was what?

Earlier, when I'd blurted out words stupidly, he'd grinned and said I'd remembered him.

I had said his name without knowing it—or a word that sounded like his name. I studied his face even more, squinting. His hair was as dark as mine and his eyes were silver-grey too, just a darker shade. And his eyes were ringed with dark circles. He looked tired.

Had he sacrificed sleep to let his niece enjoy a nice day at the pool? Where she'd nearly drowned?

The man's handsome face was pulled into a frown; the man—Uncle, a small voice in my head insisted—pushed a glass of milk to me and handed me a bar of chocolate. "Eat it, you'll feel fine after eating it," he said reassuringly. He pressed his palm against my sweaty forehead. "You're okay, right? The spill you took didn't hurt you, right?"

I nodded just to put him off my back. I took the chocolate bar from him, nibbling it halfheartedly.

He smiled and a surge of affection suddenly swelled in my chest—though I had no idea why. This body felt comfortably with this man; this man was family, and the original soul of this body must've loved him. I felt awkward, feeling something this child felt for her family. A part of me thought it was ridiculous to feel awkward around Uncle Sirius—

Hold it.

_Sirius?_

_Are you serious?_ I'd demanded earlier, and he'd laughed and said I'd finally remembered him.

I dropped the chocolate.

Impossible. No one drowns and wakes up in the world of fiction—the magical world of Harry Potter no less. Unless... unless this was reincarnation.

No, that was not it. That couldn't be it. I refuse to believe—

But the fact was, I _did_ drown, I might have _died._ I didn't know why I'd chosen to go swimming in cold weather, the details were fuzzy but the rest of my memories from my past life was intact, vague recollections but if I concentrated hard enough, I knew that memory. I couldn't remember anything but vague impressions of this body's memories.

The soul of this body was long dead.

Sirius had been immensely relieved when he saw me spluttering, waking up in his niece body, not knowing that his niece's soul was gone. How long had Clary been splashing in the pool before Sirius noticed she was drowning?

Drowning took only minutes. If Sirius had left for more than ten minutes... to eat, to nap or to go to the loo... the chances that Clary was dead the moment he found her was very high.

Even if both Clary and I had died, why did I wake up in her body?

And what if she woke up in my body? A toddler in the body of an adult! She'd ruin my reputation!

I didn't know why my reputation was so important to me—I don't remember—but I just knew that... that I'd worked hard to build it and I wouldn't be able to watch as it crumble away.

I had to go back to my body.

Who was I before I'd drowned and woke up in Clary's body? I had no idea. Just that I was arrogant and idiotic enough to think I'd survive swimming in a deep lake during October.

A part of me was curious about who I was, feeling that something was missing, and that I really should find a way back.

But another—larger—part of me wanted to stat. The part of me that felt comfortable and safe with Sirius, that I was finally happy, cared for and loved. I didn't want to leave. That part of me could've cared less about where Clary's soul was, what that soul was doing to my original body.

It was the part of me that had always been suppressed but had really been bursting to say: _I don't care what everyone thinks anymore!_

So, I was stuck in a new body, with no personal memories left, just unimportant things such as the books I'd loved to read (which includes Harry Potter), how my room looks like and a few friends.

What do I do now?

Before I could contemplated for long, however, someone cleared their throat pointedly. I blinked, looking toward the source of the noise.

Sirius shot me a disapproving look. "What did I say about wasting food?" He paused, stiffening mid-act to retrieve the fallen treat. He straightened without taking the chocolate, staring at me oddly again. It was a mixture of sadness and confusion. "No... your father said that, didn't he?" He laughed, sounding less-than-sane as he flopped down onto the bed. "...I'd never say something so responsible to you."

An image, a memory of this body surfaced: a younger man who looked a lot like Sirius smiling softly down at me, at Clary who'd grinned back.

"Clary?"

_That's not my name_, I thought, irritated. But try as I might, I could not remember the name from my past life, the name of the original me. So I had to respond to Clary's name. It felt dirty and odd, like I was stealing her identity completely, with no chance for anyone to call me out on it.

I looked imploringly—trying to look innocent—at Sirius. "Nn?"

"Do you miss Daddy?"

The same face surfaced in my mind's eye again and my chest felt a pang of longing. So I suppose this body did miss her father. I couldn't remember anything about the mother though. Why wasn't this body's mother looking after it, why did the father leave the infant to the uncle?

"Un..."

Sirius was looking at the ceiling, his face unreadable. "That idiot."

"Wanna see Daddy," I burbled, much to my embarrassment. Those weren't the words I'd wanted to say. What I wanted to ask was: what the hell am I going to do now? Stay in this body or leave it? If it's the latter, how am I going to leave it? How do I ask for help without sounding like a lunatic? How do I get someone to believe me?

"He's not coming back," said Sirius tersely. "Sorry, kid, he's..." He hesitated, looking back at me for a split second before looking away. "I don't know what got into that idiot's mind, but... he didn't make it."

_Your father's dead_ was left unsaid by Sirius who did not want to burden his niece with the concept of death.

I understood it all too well because I was either dead myself or...

Or—

I was _born_ in this world. Reincarnated a while ago; it might have seemed like I'd suddenly woken up in the body of a two-year-old, but in actuality, this was my body and Clary's soul was _my_ soul. A childish mentality had developed before I was fully awake. Memories of my past life was stored away by the brain because it was simply _too_ confusing for a toddler to comprehend. It was stored away, instead, for a time when the body, mind and soul would finally be able to understand.

Something happened—perhaps Daddy's death—that had triggered the memories of my past life. Had Sirius slipped and told Clary what happened to her father, not knowing what it'd do?

Perhaps he'd carefully avoided saying anything about death when Clary reacted badly in response, not knowing that it was the first attempt of my past life's consciousness struggling to resurface at the mention of death.

Then... I _was_ awake.

And though that theory was plausible, how was I reincarnated into this fictional world? How did I know the future of this world if this is not entirely fictional?

I wasn't in water, I wasn't struggling to breathe either.

But I was sure I was still drowning.

...

...

...

* * *

**xxx**

**Question: **How did Clary die in the first life? Any reason as to why she'd be swimming in cold and dangerous weathers?

_Reviews are **loved**!_


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer:** I don't own anything.

**Darker Than Black**

**Chapter 2**

Sirius left at night, after tucking me in. He left thinking I was asleep, not knowing the inner turmoil I was in. One question haunted me: how _did_ I die?

I rolled over, mulling this question over and over. I'd drowned. Yeah, but I don't remember why I went swimming in the first place. Thinking about it now, it sounded extremely stupid. I couldn't bear to imagine what the headlines would be about. I strained my memory, trying to remember but a blank came up.

I sighed, squinting into the darkness and at the clock. It was eerie, hearing the tick of the clock's hand moving, counting the seconds. I swallowed. I'd always had a fear of the dark and what it might hide.

Embarrassingly, I was scared of ghosts and spirits. I wished Sirius hadn't left. I wondered what he was doing now and where he is.

It was a few hours later that I fell asleep.

...

And shaken awake not long after.

I moaned in protest, reaching up to bat the hand away. "Go 'way," I mumbled.

"Clary," hissed Sirius' voice from above me, his voice filled with urgency and panic. "We have to go!"

My eyes snapped open, zeroing on his pale face. Like me, he had extremely pale skin but tonight, his skin was sheet-white in terror. "What happened?" I asked, my voice childish and high, but it still managed to convey the concern and confusion anyway.

Sirius didn't answer, he was muttering to himself. "They're coming... they're coming... Got to go..."

"Go where?" I asked, suppressing a yawn as I pushed myself up into a sitting position.

"Can you keep quiet?" Sirius hissed, losing patience. He grabbed something and threw it a me. It bounced off my head softly, landing in my lap. I glared at him; I hated being reprimanded and it stung. I grabbed the lump rabbit and hugged it. I wasn't doing it consciously; this body was instinctively reaching for this toy for comfort.

Sirius had tore the hotel room apart, whirling about to pack our stuff; he shoved things randomly into a bag, abandoning the rest.

I remained silent all the while, grumpily glaring at him. I was tired, I was confused and I wasn't too happy with him. I wished I knew what he was thinking. I frowned, closing my eyes and my eyes snapped open again.

_They're coming_—that was what Sirius was thinking, followed by the images of cloaked men waving their wands.

Just as I opened my mouth to ask what was really wrong, the door flew open, torn off its hinges. I gasped, nails digging into the stuffed toy.

"Sirius Black!" one of the men roared. "Surrender yourself!" The man was tall and burly, his neck was about as thin as Sirius' torso. The toddler's body whimpered instinctively; it was a huge blow to my ego. I hated showing weakness. "And no harm shall come to your... charge."

So he didn't know who I was then.

Sirius spat on the ground and lunged. He had drawn his wand and red light blasted from the tip of his wand. I was so shocked I lost control of the body; the toddler's childish mind started crying. I choked, gasping and spluttering when Sirius grabbed me, pulling me into his arms.

The next thing I registered was the sensation of being twisted and pushed through rubber.

I gasped in fresh air the moment everything stopped pressing down on me. I was gripping Sirius' collar tightly with both hands, the bunny tucked under my arm.

"Tell me," I insisted with as much power possible in my voice. "Wanna know. Uncle Siri, what's happening?"

"You wouldn't understand, but I'm going to give you the basic: I'm in trouble, the Ministry's after me and I might end up like your dad." Sirius said this all in one breath and I barely caught on

I blinked. "Uncle Siri's a _cree_—_me_h—nal?"

"Criminal," Sirius corrected but he nodded. "I can't fight with you hanging on to me," he said with a voice that told me he was barely hanging in there. His brain seemed to be having trouble turning because he looked stumped for a moment, turning around to see where he was, having Apparated without thinking about destination. Fortunately he was an extremely talented wizard or the both of us would've been missing some body parts.

"Where am I goin'?" I asked, hating how squeaky and childish my voice was. "Aun' Lil'?" I asked, having accidentally summoned the memory of a beautiful red-haired green-eyed woman.

A look of anguish and pain flashed past Sirius' face as he shook his head. "No..." he said, voice hoarse. "Your Aunt Lily and Uncle James are... are..." he faltered. "They went to Daddy," he finished lamely, but the underlying sadness was not missed by me.

Perhaps the baby-Clary didn't understand what distressed her uncle, but I knew: Lily and James Potter were dead. Harry Potter had destroyed Voldemort (for now) and he was an orphan too. Like me.

I inhaled sharply, trying to stop a panicking fit from happening. Sirius had been framed by that useless Peter Pettigrew; my fingers curled tighter into his shirt. I had lost total control of the body and Clary's body was crying, sobbing into Sirius' shirt, as if knowing that this will be the last time she saw her uncle in twelve years.

"There, there," he said, trying to sound soothing even as he tried to shut me up. "You'll see them... much later... hopefully."

"Where 'm goin'?" I asked through sniffles, rubbing my eyes, trying to stop this body from shedding anymore tears. But Clary's body was very stubborn—I didn't have full control over it, most of the time, I feel like a spectator watching from a first person point of view in this body.

"To your grandmother's," he said, having started walking as he jostled me with every step. He came to a stop before a solid wall. He heaved a huge sigh. "I'll try to sort things out and come get you back as soon as possible, okay?"

"...Un."

And we crossed the solid barrier into 12 Grimmauld Place.

...

...

...

My eyes took a long while to adjust. And when they did, they registered the strange, ugly and old creature peering up at us with the utmost loathing. He merely shot me a curious glance then an ugly glare at Sirius. I had to stifle a yelp at the ugliness radiating from him.

"So, the rotten son of Kreacher's Mistress Black is back... wonder what that blood-traitor wants... Kreacher shall throw him out—"

"Shut your trap, Kreacher," snapped Sirius, stepping into the house and the doors behind him closed automatically. "Where's my _dear_ mother?" His voice was laden with sarcasm when he said mother. He didn't wait for the elf's answer, kicking him out of the way and strolling further into the house as if he owned it. "Oi! I know you're there, you hag—get down here!"

What sort of son talked to his mother like _that_?

It was appalling.

And apparently, his mother thought so too. She tutted as she came down the stairs. She took her sweet time, contemptuously analyzing her older son. Sirius was smiling at her—well, his lips were pulled back and his teeth were showing, but it was still a smile—in a way that suggested he had trouble constipating.

Walburga Black said nothing, eyeing her son like he was dirt beneath her shoe. "You were disowned, in case you've forgotten. I have nothing to say to you—"

Sirius had to speak very loudly to be heard over her increasingly loud voice. "This isn't about me! This is about Clary and Regulus."

She blinked, looking down at me, as if noticing my presence for the first time. She still looked unhappy, stern and vicious but she looked slightly mollified by my presence. "What about them?"

"I want you—I mean, I have something else to do... and, uh, _Regulus_ would have wanted you to..." Sirius looked like he was being forced to swallow a lemon, skin and all. "...to... urgh—I can't do this—"

Clary giggled. I didn't have the same reaction as Clary's childish mind; I was slightly horrified at the thought of staying with this woman. I thought she was evil and Sirius hated her, he would've never left me with her.

"...to... to—well—_takecareofher_—"

Walburga let out an insufferable sigh, ignoring how her son looked as if someone had rammed a dagger in his heart. "Hand her over to me."

"Hold it," said Sirius, batting his mother away when she got closer. "I know you and I'm warning you: no Dark Magic or any talk about You-Know-Who"—Walburga's eyes narrowed—"Don't tell me you forgot how Regulus _died_?"

Walburga blinked before she narrowed her eyes coldly, snatching me from Sirius' arms. "My memory is perfect, thank you," she sneered. "Now, leave. You're not welcome here anymore."

Sirius hesitated.

"Kreacher!" barked Walburga.

"Fine!" snarled Sirius, turning and storming out of the door. "You better take care of her, woman!"

He didn't look back.

...

...

...

Four days: that was how long I had been here at Grimmauld Place, the pure and noble House of Black. I didn't see pure anywhere in the house no matter how many times I explored it. Noble? Sure it was. It was grand, large and screamed _rich_.

I didn't care.

I always waited in the living room, glaring glumly out the window, waiting for Uncle Sirius to come back. Grandmother Walburga wasn't that bad—from how Sirius had depicted her however, Clary's young mind had always conjured up the image of a banshee to associate Walburga with.

Walburga Black was a woman who could've been a beautiful young woman once, but the beauty had been withered away by old age. She was cold and snark to Sirius but at the mention of my father, she had softened and had taken me in. I knew instantly that she loved my father more than she did Sirius.

In fact, I had heard her mutter _'good riddance'_ under her breath when Sirius had left.

I wanted to throw a tantrum—well, at least Clary's eighteen-months-old mind did—and demand to see Uncle Sirius right now. But I wanted to be on the old hag's good side. She seemed useful, I couldn't have her die of heart-attack now when I need someone to take care of me.

The house was lonely, with only me and the house-elf for company, I wondered why Walburga didn't go out to check up on her friends, even to just gossip.

She only received owls from the Daily Prophet, no letters. To me, it was a little sad to know that she had no friends who cared enough to owl her. What about her nieces and nephews? She never showed it, she was always proud and strong, but I knew that deep down, she must be sad—at least that was what Clary's child-like mind assumed, I had a feeling she couldn't be bothered, as if she was tired of living.

She wouldn't have to wait long then, because she hadn't long to live from what I could remember.

Once she's dead, I wonder who would take me in.

I know I should be holding out hope that Sirius had gotten away and cleared his name but I didn't want to get my hopes up only for them to be crushed.

My pessimistic prediction proved true when the newest edition of Daily Prophet came with a handsome screech owl. From how Walburga's lips were thinning til they were barely visible (as she always did when she was displeased), I knew Sirius had been caught.

My horrors were confirmed when she threw the newspaper at me, excusing herself without touching her breakfast. Kreacher called after her, receiving a sharp reply ("Leave me be, Kreacher!") in turn.

"What is wrong?" Kreacher moaned, sniffling. "What is wrong? What is upsetting Mistress? Kreacher's Mistress Black has never left the food he prepared with his blood, sweat and tears to go to waste before—"

Clary burst into tears.

_Sirius Black has been convicted of the murder of thirteen Muggles and one brave wizard, Peter Pettigrew, who had received—_

...

...

...

I spent the remaining month locked up in my room. The room that was once my father's. It was decorated in Slytherin colors: silver and green. There were clippings of Voldemort everywhere, which meant that my dad had been a fanatic of the Dark Lord.

But Regulus Black had been killed by his own Death Eaters. Betrayed by his own comrades as Sirius had been. Those two brothers really didn't know how to choose their friends.

Thinking about it made my eyes sting, but no tears leaked. My tears had dried, so had the sadness and anguish. Crying wouldn't bring those two back. There was nothing I could do and my hatred boiled.

"They didn't listen to what he has to say, did they?" I asked, one morning.

Grandmother Walburga looked up at me in surprise. I had never initiated conversation before. Grandmother had accepted my silence as part of my personality rather quickly and I knew she was disappointed (but could no longer be bothered) I wasn't more confident or had an ounce of charisma.

I was more of a follower—but that could be because I was too lazy to take any responsibility. Most of the time, I'd want everything to go my way and for everyone to listen to me. So, I guess I was a leader but whether I'd be a natural or not... I have no idea.

"No," said Walburga finally. "I think not. Our family's history has been tainted, they will not believe him, especially when there's not proof he did not commit those murders."

I frowned. "Do you think he did it?"

"No," she scoffed. "Sirius is in Gryffindor. Try as he might, he'll never be able to kill. He _loves_ those filthy Mudbloods."

I sighed mentally. At least she believed he was innocent (incompetent). "Did the Minister decree such?"

"Yes."

"I want to change the corrupt Ministry," I said finally. "They seem so incompetent."

I couldn't be sure since the house was so dark, but I thought I saw Walburga smile. "Really?" She sounded like she was teasing me.

I help my head high, jutting my chin in defiance. "I _will_ be the Minister for Magic. I will change it according to _my_ way, _my_ views."

I want to change life.

_Yes_, agreed a very old and tired voice in my head.

...

...

...

Grandmother Walburga seemed torn between mocking me and helping me, her favorite son's last legacy. She ended up doing a mixture of both. It was not illegal for children below the age of eleven to perform magic. Besides, the House of Black was always barricaded away from everyone and no one would bother checking up on us to see what we were up to.

If I were the one responsible for the community of magic, I would've conducted (unexpected) monthly check-ups to see what they were up to and see whether or not they're plotting something against me.

Alas, complaining about them now would be useless.

The most important skill a politician must have: Legilimens and Occlumens.

Fortunately, Walburga was skilled in both aspects and she trained me.

Occlumens was something I practiced every second of the day. I panicked when she said she'd be riffling through my memories. I did not want her to find out about my past life. Luckily for me, I had a natural affinity for it: blanking out and not thinking about anything.

Legilimens was harder but Walburga said only one thing when I complained about the slow pace we were moving:

"Patience."

And I waited.

...

...

...


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: **I do not own anything you recognize.

**Darker Than Black**

**Chapter 3**

_And All The Following Years_

I was five when I started following Walburga everywhere.

I know she was surprised by how annoying I was; Kreacher (after I told him that he might lose his precious Mistress Black) and I tailed her and only stopped when she went to the bathroom but when she took longer than five minutes, we'd be pounding on the door until she threw it open, screeched at us to shut up and throw us out of the house.

From what I could remember, she died five years after Harry Potter was born—this year marked the day—because she was unable to handle the fact that her whole family was gone (not taking into account the disowned people). She looked perfectly healthy to me (had even pinched me when I suggested her to pay a visit to St. Mungo's) so I suppose my presence was doing her good.

I held my breath the whole year until a smarter part of me hissed that the chances of Walburga dying in the following years were even higher as she aged.

...

...

...

I was six when I learned that we could actually visit prisoners in Azkaban.

This fact started the whole year long's begging and wheedling to see Sirius. Every attempt went something along the lines of this:

"We can't go there," Walburga said tersely, trying to shove me off the stairs and out of her way.

"Why?" I asked.

"There are Dementors," hissed the old lady. "Creatures that children would not be able to handle."

"And Kreacher's Mistress Black is too old and fragile..." Kreacher would always interject.

It'd always end with Grandmother drawing her wand and Levitating us out of her way.

It was at the end of the year when I finally gave up; sighing and plopping down beside Grandmother on the couch. "Can we at least send an owl?"

"No."

"Can we send someone to check on him? Make sure he's okay and he'd get out well-wishes?"

I seethed, frustrated. I was polite to old people even though no one taught me to—I knew this was a part of me ingrained too deeply from my past to be completely erased—but that didn't mean I had no limits. "Why _not_?" I screamed, kicking the coffee table in a bout of temper and it shattered, one of its wooden leg splintered. I know Walburga wouldn't miss it since she was filthy rich and could easily replace it.

Walburga glance at me sternly, her lips curling disdainfully. Had she been young, I knew she would've slapped me or something along those lines.

"Who would support a traitor?"

"He's not!" I screamed shrilly, realizing—but unable to stop—how much of a brat I'm being. "I want to talk to him! I'm sending an owl—get me one!"

Walburga snapped her fingers, eyeing me coldly. "Kreacher," she said, still not taking her eyes off me. "Send for an owl. If you wish to send letters, _Regina_"—She always called me Regina because that was the feminine form of my father's name and I knew she missed him and only put up with me because of his blood flowing through my veins—"I will not stop you. But know this, it is futile. There are just some things in this world that even magic cannot accomplish."

"I just want him to know I care about him when even his own mother had forsaken him!"

Walburga's eyes flashed dangerously. "Watch your mouth, Siriu—_Sirina_"—Sirina because she thought she was talking to her rebellious son again—"I'd forsaken you a long time ago."

...

...

...

I was seven when I realized Walburga may be suffering from some mental disease.

The names Sirina and Regina were given to me by her. Before I was in her care, I was simply Clementine "Clary" Black. Now, my name had elongated to Clementine Sirina Aquarius Regina Black—well, not necessarily in that order.

Anyway, she didn't refer to me as _Sirina_ and _Regina_ anymore. She called me _Regulus_ most of the time and when I retorted or was arguing with her, she'd scream at _Sirius_ to shut up.

"Regulus, pass me the plate."

I stared at her, startled—not at the use of the name, I was used to it by now. "Why?"

Walburga frowned at me, appearing stern, but I thought her eyes looked glazed over. "Kreacher needs to wash it, use the brain I've gifted you, Sirius. I did not carry you and shielded you for nine months in my womb to be such a disease."

"Lady," I said, starting to get impatient and foreboding. "you're the one with the disease."

"Shut your mouth, Sirius and show me some respect!" She screeched. Her screaming fit brought Kreacher running; he shot me a distasteful look, apparently believing me to be Sirius as well—he wasn't much saner than his mistress, I suspected he thought I was a reincarnation of his Mistress' evil son and when she called me Regulus, he really thought I was my father.

My jaw dropped. "But..." I spluttered eloquently before managing to spit out, after throwing the plate a startled look: "But we haven't even eaten yet! You were the one who asked me to set the dishes minutes ago. What is _wrong_ with you?"

I didn't care how rude I sounded, just that I was sick with worry.

Grandmother's eyes cleared a little. "Did I, now?"

"It's time for dinner," I supplied when she looked around in confusion. "Remember?"

"I see..." Grandmother said vaguely, frowning down at me as if she'd never seen me before. Then she turned to Kreacher with a scowl. "Well? Prepare dinner."

This time, even Kreacher was startled. "But Kreacher have prepared dinner—"

I kicked him. "Go and serve us dinner then."

I started scrutinizing Grandmother even closer after that incident instead of spending all my time holed up in the House of Black's enormous library.

...

...

...

I was eight when I decided Grandmother needed to see a doctor.

Kreacher protested, of course, when I brought up the idea. "Kreacher's Mistress is healthy and wise and intelligent—"

"So intelligent she doesn't remember who _you_ are?" I challenged, cutting him off. I frowned out the window. "The owl to Azkaban should be back any minute now..." I muttered.

I'd been sending letters for two whole years now. Once or twice every month—it used to be every week but I lengthened the waiting time when Sirius didn't reply and the owls always came back empty-handed—I'd write and tell him everything, assuming I'd reached him, of course.

It felt nice to vent my frustration of paper because I had no one to talk to; it felt soothing even though I know he'd probably never be able to read it.

I sighed, leaning back in my chair, still watching the bright sky outside. The sun was out and I imagined other wizarding children laughing and flying on broomsticks with their parents down on the ground, ready to catch them if they fall. My eyes stung but no tears came: I'd lost the ability to cry years ago, when I first realized I'd died once.

I was finally in full control of Clary's body; the childish mentality that was Clary had died, melded into me, along with her bad temper and fear of birds. I realized that this body was terrified of birds when Kreacher first brought me an owl. I'd scream my head off not knowing why until Kreacher removed it hastily from the room.

My phobia had gotten better, but I still approached an owl with gritted teeth to keep in the scream, goosebumps risen in disgust and closed eyes to avoid looking at the ugly creature.

"Okay, Kreacher, take the letter," I barked, retreating in disgust when the particularly large owl landed on my desk.

Kreacher shot me a smug look but he did as told. I gritted my teeth in anger; that filthy and deranged house-elf purposefully ordered this large bird just to spite me, no doubt. Someday, I'd chop off his head and dump it in the—

With a loud screech, the owl took off.

I didn't realize I'd recoiled five steps away until Kreacher called me. I snatched the letter away from him, reading it through.

I'd learned of Andromeda Tonks (formerly Black) who married a Mudblood and was disowned because of this act. She worked as a Healer in St. Mungo's and since I didn't trust anyone else, I owled for her.

Kreacher and Walburga did not know of this, of course, and I told Andromeda to come undercover.

_Dear Clary,_

_I'd be glad to help you - even though I had never gotten along very well with Regulus but Sirius had a hand in raising you and I know he loved you and would've been disappointed if I'd turn a blind eye to your presence here - despite what my husband may say._

_We have a lot to catch up on._

_Love, _

_Andromeda Tonks_

I rolled up the parchment. "I have one order for you, Kreacher."

"Yes, Miss Regulus?" Right; lapse of memory. Kreacher didn't know my name either.

"Don't freak out when you see our guest."

...

...

...

I was nine when I saw the Muggle world.

Andromeda had taken me in, sort-of. Grandmother suffered from what a Muggle would call Alzheimer disease—she couldn't remember a lot of things, but her hate for Mudbloods and blood-traitors was so deeply ingrained, she remembered to be horrible to Andromeda and her husband and daughter, so terrible to them in fact, that she managed to chase them out.

Muggles had no way of curing Alzheimer, neither do the Wizards actually. But we fared better, we could actually slow the process down with the continuous consumption of a particular potion that Andromeda readily supplied.

Grandmother reverted back to calling me Sirina and Regina—which weirded Andromeda out but she didn't complain—which was a good sign.

I only had interaction with one of my cousin: half-blood Nymphadora Tonks.

She was clumsy but funny and good-natured—which irked Grandmother—but I enjoyed her company at least.

I decided that Andromeda and her family were okay. They'd invited me to stay with them for Christmas, and with the reassurance that Kreacher would be taking care of Grandmother, I'd agreed.

The Tonks were family, but...

But they could _never_ compare to Uncle Sirius and Dad.

When I think of them, it was always at night when things were silent, where I'd run out of things to keep myself busy to not dwell on the bad memories.

I couldn't be sure, but maybe Clary _did_ cry in the silence and dark of the night.

...

...

...

I was ten when I received my Hogwarts letter.

The sender would never know how conflicted I was. This was my chance to leave 12 Grimmauld Place; yes, I spent summer and Christmas holidays with the Tonks but I'd always rush back to Grimmauld Place when they offered to take me in permanently. On the other hand, I was reluctant to leave Grandmother.

Going to school meant facing kids—older and younger than me—who'd be loud and rude and cruel. I didn't know where I got this sort of impression when Dora only spoke of the good, but at times like these, I knew it was the memories of my past life surfacing.

Leaving the grumpy and old Walburga would be a dream come true to everyone. I knew that Sirius would've yelled at me to jump at this chance.

She supported Voldemort—I know but I think her loyalties had nulled when her younger son died—and I should fear her, and I did, for a few years when I was a toddler, but as I grew older, I realized something...

What was there to fear of a lonely old woman who had lost everything?

I seated myself beside Grandmother who was staring off into space. I knew this was one of the times she'd simply ignore everything and everyone around her: lost in old memories of the happier days.

"Do you cry?" I asked abruptly, bluntly because if I was anything, I was straightforward. "No, not on the outside because I know you can't do that... either it's your pride or you've forgotten how to do it—no surprise there because I've already forgot too." Even sarcasm lost is appeal when I was speaking to her like this.

I reached out, taking a wrinkled hand. Back when I was very small, she would've snatched her hand away; she hated human contact.

I frowned.

"Do you know who I am? I'm... Sirius and Regulus... your—" I stopped. What was I to her? She was delusional, thinking I was her sons and she barely had any idea that she had a granddaughter—maybe, once, she knew I existed. "I'm family."

She turned her head to stare at me, frowning briefly, as if remembering something but unable to say it.

"Do you know what that means?"

She didn't respond, just stared at me blankly, quizzically.

"It means that I'd be with you no matter what, Grandma."

...

...

...

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**xxx**

**Question:** Why don't you review even though you read this story? O.o


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